Oh, hello there, May. Are you already here again? That happened fast. Season is, in all true definitions and understandings, over. Another crazy year under my belt. Another ten BVI stamps in the passport and another departing staff full of people whom I will probably not ever see again. I think I've gotten good at goodbyes. Practice makes perfect, I suppose, but I never wanted to be good at goodbyes.
I don't know that I would consider myself a nomad, though I have always regarded the word romantically and wish it could pass as my own classification. I'm just lost and then found, generally in succession. Over and over and over again. I stay somewhere until I'm unhappy and then I leave. I'm not a hobo; I'm just logical. And portable. I also happen to like living in places where most people only get to vacation. I don't really understand why everybody doesn't live this way. Why on Earth would you live somewhere mundane when you don't have to? When there are a million places so beautiful that they make you wish you never had to blink? It's true, I tend to love in fairly expensive spots. It works for me, since being broke seems to be my most natural state. I can see how that would not work for everyone.
It can also be exhausting to live this way. You spend a few months gearing up. Preparing and planning and scheduling and trying your very best to get ready for the tazmanian devil that is a throng of pasty, hurried tourists. Then you're in the cloud, just trying not to get hit by the suntan lotion bottles and tiny paper umbrellas that fly off the frenzied mass. The frenzy lasts a few lucrative months longer than you would like it to. And then...then it's like you were going 95 on the highway and saw a cop. Slam the brakes. Slow the hell down. Try your best to act like nothing happened. And then, before you know it, you're prepping again. There is barely time to catch your breath.
So I guess I can understand why people wouldn't want this life. But I still do.
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